Halloween H19
by QuillSwift
Summary: James Potter tells Albus and Rose a latenight story at Hogwarts. Though the Dark Lord has 'been conquered', there are still frights to be had...If Harry Potter were horror, this might be its epilogue. Fun Oneshot, Halloweenfic, portraitSnape cameo.


Wasn't the defeat of Voldemort almost too easy? I mean, after all the strenuous Horcrux-hunting a simple _expelliarmus _did the trick, eh? If HP were horror, you would count on there being a twist in the final minutes. While I don't seriously think this would happen (ooh, the conspiracy theories) this is my idea of a little fun to celebrate Halloween. Yes, it's humor/horror (don't adjust your tv screen!). Tell me what you think of the new generation kids, huh? ;) Enjoy!

**Disclaimer:** My name is not J.K. Rowling. J.K. Rowling wrote and owns Harry Potter and its associated world and characters. Therefore, I do not own Harry Potter and its associated world and characters.

* * *

**Halloween H-19**

Since the downfall of the Dark Lord those fateful nineteen years ago, there was arguably little to be afraid of. Death Eaters in pockets of wizarding society lingered as wispily as shadows on open fields. And to the young born following those dark times, legends of the war were akin to pages of historical tomes; no more or less real than the paper they were written on. Scares were far and few in between.

Trust James Potter to ruin that.

"Aieee--!"

"_Silencio."_ Rose Weasley's quick thinking put the ears of the Gryffindor common room at peace. She turned quickly, frowning up at the headless figure behind her.

"You_know_ your brother doesn't like it when you sneak up like that. On Halloween night too," she tutted in reproach.

The older Potter's shoulders shrugged unrepentantly as he reached up to pull off the hat. "Uncle George got it for me," he said, grinning as his head reappeared. "Sorry then Al."

"Are you all right?" Rose asked the now-angry Albus Severus Potter, taking the spell off.

"Yeah, I'm ok now," he muttered, glaring at his brother.

"I'm sure I was doing you a favour." James leaned over to look at Albus' half-written essay. "Potions. Heck, I did you a massive favour. Take a break, Al, the feast has barely finished and you're back doing homework already. Hey, who had all the Chocolate Frogs I brought up?"

Rose coughed, turning slightly red. "Anyway, James, if you scare Al like that again, I'll write to Aunt Ginny. Honestly, it might be your weird way of showing brotherly love or something but can't you leave him alone for a second?"

James rolled his eyes good-naturedly. "Sure thing." As she turned back in a huff towards her own essay, he quipped, "Maybe until tomorrow."

**iiiii**

As the fire died low in the common room, three figures remained. One, sunk low in an armchair, stirred as the other two whispered at a table.

"I think that's enough for now, really," said Albus, yawning sleepily. "After all, the Professor extended the deadline until Wednesday."

"But I thought it was Monday – and that's just five days away, anyway!"

"You didn't know?" said Albus curiously, perking up to look at his cousin. "Professor Slughorn said so at the end of the lesson. What were you doing?"

"Er – probably packing my cauldron." In truth, Rose had gotten into a heated argument with a Slytherin on the extensiveness of the properties of a bezoar. That irritating Malfoy!

"Are you two still up?" James called from the armchair, concerned. "It's just – I can't go up to the dorms while you two are nodding off down here, can I? I need my sleep, you know, you dolts," he said hastily.

"Yeah, we're going." As Albus stood up, a bolt of lightning streaked across the window, and a particularly loud crash of thunder followed. All three pairs of eyes glanced outside at the grounds.

Finally, James spoke. "Would you like to hear a story?"

"What kind of story?" said Albus warily.

"Oh, just an interesting little tale about – the Shrieking Shack." As if on cue, lightning illuminated the dark old building from its place beyond the gates.

Rose shook her head dismissively. "All that stuff about it being haunted isn't true." But, as she stared outside, imagining the run-down shanty of a house, she shivered despite herself.

"Wouldn't you know?" With all the solemnity of a story-master, James took a seat on the couch before the fireplace, beckoning the others to join him. They hesitantly took places on either side of the boy.

"On nights such as this, in addition to the usual moans, creaks and bangs of the house, there is a presence that lurks, lurks within those rotting wooden walls…"

As the wind howled, their imaginations were carried along.

"Have you ever wondered why the flowers surrounding the Shack are stained a deep, dark red? Why the Whomping Willow is particularly vicious at this time? Heard the stories of young, foolish Hufflepuffs who have mysteriously disappeared into the dark clutches of the beast inside, never to be seen again?"

"Hufflepuffs?" Rose questioned cynically.

"Ever heard of Bronwyn O'Leary?" James asked, wiggling his eyebrows.

"No," snorted Albus.

"Exactly!" James exclaimed, making them jump.

"Anyhow…continuing…have you never wondered why even the house elves are afraid to linger near the Shrieking Shack?"

"They aren't used to going out, the poor things, and they were never really allowed to before if they weren't carrying out some duty, but my mum is working on changing…"

"Rose!" said James irritably, holding up a hand. "Just let me get on with this." He sighed deeply.

"So. It all began with one young, curious girl who thought she had heard a voice calling out her name, coming from the Shack. Back then, you see, it was actually a nice, peaceful place, but this girl was known for imagining the strangest things. Still, her friends tried to stop her from going into the Shack, mainly because that the Friendly Willow – no, it wasn't Whomping back then, it was enchanted to play games with the children - sometimes got a bit rough with its branches."

"This isn't making any sense," remarked Rose loudly. But Albus was entranced, so James turned pointedly his way.

"Her friends failed to dissuade her, so one night she contrived to get into the house. By magically freezing the Willow with a bat – "

"A bat?" Albus looked puzzled.

"It might have been a cat. Or a stick? Oh, never mind. She magically froze the Willow. Crawling inside, she began to notice that the space became rather confined, suffocating, and dark. Yet she wriggled onwards, and the tunnel narrowed, until the terrible smell of earth and dankness became almost overwhelming. Finally, she reached the Shack.

"Of course, it was empty. But not for long. After pulling herself out of the tunnel she noticed a faint scratching noise. It became a loud shuffling, a scraping, and a heavy breathing. It came from the tunnel.

"She inched away from its opening in fright until her back was against the sides of the house. Agonizingly slow, the figure lumbered out. She took one look at its heavy, curling horns, its mangy, spotted fur, its gnashing, monstrous teeth and merciless black eyes and SCREAMED!"

But James' dramatic denouement was drowned out, rather, by the sounds of a giggling Albus. James looked crestfallen and confused.

"Cr-f-snk," Albus spluttered, holding his knees.

"What?"

"Crumple – Horned – Snorkack – " he said, recovering enough to grin up at his brother. "That's the exact description Mrs Scamander told us when she visited last year. She said they were meant to be quite friendly, really."

"I think it's safe to say that James' story is just that – a story," rejoined Rose, also laughing.

The older Potter frowned, annoyed. "Okay, what about the legend of the Ninth Soul? Well, what about the one where Severus the Stalwart was killed by a snake in the Shrieking Shack? That one's true, you know."

"Yeah, I know," said Albus calmly, gazing at James. "But he hasn't left his ghost wandering around there. That's the last thing he'd do."

Having met a certain portrait very recently and having received a full blast of his efficient, cold and sarcastic personality had made Albus quite sure that Severus Snape was not one to leave traces of himself for all eternity to uselessly mope in a place he particularly disliked through life.

"Oh, and he'd like you to stop using that name, too." Albus' brow creased in recollection.

**ooo**

"_Severus the – Stalwart?"_

"_It's not a very commonly used title, sir," Albus said, somewhat unsurely. _

"_I would hope not. It sounds like a troll went through a thesaurus in some ham-handed attempt at alliteration. A Gryffindor troll, too," the former Headmaster had muttered, disgusted - not least that it should pass over his smartness, shrewdness and spy-status in preference of a synonym for 'brave'._

"_Come now, Severus, it is a label for a legend! Your story has captured the collective imagination of our community."_

_Snape glared at the silver-haired portrait beside him._

"_Be that as it may, I would prefer not to be within earshot of anyone using it. For their sakes." _

**ooo**

Eyes twinkling, Albus Severus Potter smirked at James in superiority, looking alarmingly like both his namesakes at that moment.

James shook his head in disbelief. "Off to bed then. G'night. Go on." Heading to the stairs, he watched as the two young Gryffindors rushed off to their respective dorms. "First years these days," he exhaled dramatically, before climbing up to his own bed.

**iiiii**

The next morning, half of the school was gathered behind the front gates before breakfast to gawk at the sight. A chunk of grass on the outskirts of Hogsmeade village - at least fifty metres wide on all sides - was terribly burnt; indeed, it still seemed to be smoking.

Hagrid and Headmaster Worthington were conversing as Rose and Albus stood nearby. The other students stood theorizing about the past night's blaze, with Victoire Weasley and her group of Ravenclaw friends giggling about the possibility that someone transfigured the jack-o-lanterns back into pumpkins before extinguishing their internal fires.

"I 'spect it were the lightnin', Headmaster. I shoulda woke up summat earlier - went a bit overboard wi' the revelry, yer know," he said sheepishly.

"I knew he should have stuck with the Butterbeer," said Rose with slight disapproval. Albus elbowed her surreptitiously.

"No, not at all, Hagrid, you got there just in time it seems, job well done all round," the Headmaster said, peering at the damage over his glasses. "We can easily get the grass replaced. It is only a good thing no-one in the village was harmed…"

"What happened?" asked a muffled voice, pushing its way through the crowd to the front.

"The lightning last night managed to toast a small bit of the grounds," she squinted, "and quite a bit just outside it, though you would think it would have been protected against things like that," began Rose. She glanced behind her.

"Oh, it's you," she grimaced, meeting the eyes of Scorpius Malfoy.

He raised a pale eyebrow and folded his arms. "Are you going to watch Slytherin beat Gryffindor in Quidditch this afternoon, then?"

Albus stepped cautiously forwards, his eyes following the edges of the dark patch of grass beyond.

"…If they do win, it'll be because one of your Beaters…"

A small tingling went through Albus' spine as he saw where the black stretched out to and ended…

"…suggesting that we don't play fair…"

It was really quite remarkable, almost impossible that it shouldn't be a pile of burnt wood…

"…most of you are okay, all right? Not you included, of course…"

The Shrieking Shack, though surrounded by dark burns and a fallen tree, cracked clean in half over it, remained intact. Completely intact.

"Come on, Albus, let's go eat breakfast!" Albus was shaken out of his reverie by Rose's voice. With a last withering glance at Scorpius she took Albus by the hand and walked back on the long, winding path towards the castle.

Albus could not help but glance once more at the Shrieking Shack before shrugging it off and wondering what exactly they were going to have for breakfast.

If he had listened carefully, perhaps he would have heard a slow ticking that seemed to pulsate from the Shrieking Shack. Something with a strangely malign, half-dead vibe that seemed to have awoken on October 31st.

Something that suggested exactly why it could not be destroyed by mere lightning. After all, lightning wasn't basilisk venom or Fiendfyre…

Something that sounded almost like a tiny human heartbeat.

Thump. Thump. Thump.


End file.
